


Day 21: The Gift

by LtLime23



Series: August MEFFW Challenge [18]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Dark, Gen, Gritty, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtLime23/pseuds/LtLime23
Summary: Day 21 of the Month of FanfictionPrompt: A Holiday CelebrationThis is NOT happy fluff, this is dark, this is Omega.In the not too distant future I'll be starting a new narrative driven longfic called Dak'juri - this is part of the backstory.





	Day 21: The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Day 21 of the Month of Fanfiction
> 
> Prompt: A Holiday Celebration
> 
> This is NOT happy fluff, this is dark, this is Omega.
> 
> In the not too distant future I'll be starting a new narrative driven longfic called Dak'juri - this is part of the backstory.

    Having only been on the galactic scene for three decades, human celebrations and traditions were not yet woven into the fabric of Milky Way culture.  Asari didn't care for Christmas, this year however, our subject receives a gift she will never forget. 

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

    Omega, gritty, oppressive, throbbing, the vulgar combination of blood, piss and lust, the very walls sweating.  Heartbeats shifting the air, the station was a beast, unable to be tamed all snarl and bite, calling to be challenged.  Another beast is walking the streets tonight, soft bootsteps carefully placed as they traverse the wreckage.  The turf war finally spilling over, months of tit for tat one shots bubbling into a violent clash of bullets, fire, blade and claw. 

    The air still hung with the scent of charred flesh, bloody footprints drying to deep crimson, you could taste the residue of spent heatsinks and incendiary ammo.  Hushed voices scurried like beetles retrieving the dead, so much violence for so little reward.  Silently stalking their prey, the target two mercs celebrating their victory, relishing in the death toll they'd accrued, our assassin knew the truth, the civilians they'd killed, without mercy or distinction. 

    Neither noticed the sudden emptying of the space, too ignorant to understand that if you see a Dak'juri enter your field of battle, you are already dead.  A fist full of hair saw the first man lifted off the ground, eyes wide, his accomplished paralyzed as he watched the curved point of the blade slice easily across the neck.  The mercenary's scream prematurely silenced to a gurgling wet splutter, the whoosh of crumpling lungs as the carcass was dropped twitching and flinching on the floor. 

    Our predator eyed their real target, the one who stole two innocent lives, the one whose redemption the Goddess seeks.  His horror was evident, shaking, blinded by his own fear, the urine which soaked through, mingling with the deceased blood, a venomous cocktail.  Pinned to the bulkhead, he watched as his torso was exposed, the blade so sharp the incision drawn along his axis barely registered.  The merc fought to control his breathing, seeing his organs bulge outwards hazardously with each inhalation, his peritoneum threatening to rupture.  It was with a gentle touch that a strong hand invaded his chest cavity, brushing aside the redundant sacks of air, now devoid of their vacuum.  He felt the vice like grip, with no air with which to scream, he had more than enough time to wordlessly look upon his own heart sat delicately in the fingers of his killer. 

    The Asari waits, leant against a small metal table, the only light comes from a single naked bulb above her head, the ethereal light casting her in a menace of shadows and highlights, it matches the twists of anger that consume her.  Her arms are folded across her chest, head bowed, her Mother and Father lie silent, unmoving, empty on slabs to her left and right.  At the rustle of wings, she opens her palms, and as the still warm organ of her foe is placed in her hands she speaks. 

    "When all has burned, all that we speak of shall be dust and Ash." 

    And through the meld their mantra resonates against the stars. 

_Goddess have mercy, for I have none._


End file.
